I don’t. I turn away, leaving the broken door standing behind me. My footsteps echo down the corridor, heavy and slow.
In my own room, I leave the lights off. I sit in the dark, the city’s glow just enough to throw my shadow across the floor. I think of her—her defiance, her hate, the dangerous tenderness in her eyes when she thought I wasn’t looking. I remember every word I wish I hadn’t said, every word I still want to.
It isn’t weakness. It’s the cost of wanting. The cost of knowing that for all I’ve built, for all I command, the only thing I cannot control is the way her presence cracks my armor, lets something hopeful and terrible breathe in the dark.
I stay awake until dawn, waiting for the house to wake, for some new crisis to demand the monster I’ve always been. All the while, I carry her name like a secret inside my chest, where no one else can see it, where it’s already begun to change me.
***
She hears my footsteps in the corridor, or maybe she never slept at all. When I step through the broken door, Sera is already awake, standing by the window, spine straight, hair tangled in the wash of moonlight.
The pale glow limns her features in silver, making her look less like a prisoner and more like a spirit called up from my own guilty mind. She doesn’t turn as I enter, but her hands are balled tight at her sides, white-knuckled with some emotion I can’t read. She is unafraid—or at least, she refuses to let me see her fear.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The room holds its breath. The silence is heavy, thick enough to choke on. I watch the slow rise and fall of her shoulders, the steady, stubborn set of her jaw. She could tell me to leave. She could scream, demand answers, hurl every accusation she’s earned the right to throw.
Her voice, when it finally comes, is quiet. Too quiet. “You shouldn’t be here. Why are you outside my door?”
Her words cut deeper than any curse. I feel the truth of them: wrong place, wrong time, wrong man. I search for some response that isn’t a command, that isn’t an apology. My own voice feels strange in my mouth when I say, “I know.”
Then I cross the room, closing the distance between us in a single step.
She turns to face me, chin high, lips parted. The air between us crackles. Her eyes flick to my mouth, the smallest, traitorous movement, and I feel my last scrap of control begin to slip. I see her bite her lower lip, worry it between her teeth, and that’s the end of my restraint.
My hand comes up to her face, thumb tracing the line of her jaw. The shudder that runs through her doesn’t stop me. If anything, it urges me on. I lower my mouth to hers, rough and desperate, not asking, not giving her the chance to pull away.
I kiss her hard, claiming, as if I can erase the past twenty-four hours—erase the memory of blood, the echo of cruelty, the endless days of longing.
She gasps, shock and resistance warring in her throat, but I don’t stop. My other hand tangles in her hair, sliding to the nape of her neck, holding her where I need her. She pushes against my chest, weak at first, a protest she doesn’t put her whole weight behind.
The futility of it makes something dark twist in my gut. I pull her closer, molding her to me, forcing her to feel the shape of my hunger.
For a breathless moment, her body is all tension: fighting, resisting, wanting. I taste salt on her lips, taste the sharp edge of her anger, her confusion, her impossible need. She lets out a sound—half sob, half moan—and her hands clutch at my shirt, bunching the fabric, as if she might pull me away or draw me closer, even she doesn’t know.
I deepen the kiss, swallowing her protest, the ache in my chest raw and real. My fingers slide down, gripping her hips, not gentle, never gentle. She shudders, torn between flight and surrender. Her knees bump the wall, and I press her there, making her feel every inch of the cage we’re both trapped in.
I break away just enough to breathe, just enough to look at her. Her eyes are wild, furious, pupils wide and glassy. Her lips are red, kiss-bruised. The moonlight spills over her, turning her skin to silver and shadow. I see the war inside her—hate and want, fear and longing. For a second I think she’ll slap me, run, scream.
She only whispers my name, the sound trembling, desperate.
That’s when I lose what little control I have left. I kiss her again, harder, swallowing her name, pinning her with the weight of my body. Her hands slide up, over my shoulders, into my hair. She pulls, not to push me away, but to anchor herself.
She kisses back wildly, unsteady, as if she hates herself for it. Every movement is a battle. I feel her tremble against me, feel the heat in her body, the way her breath catches when I press my thigh between hers.
I murmur her name against her mouth, a prayer, a warning, a plea for something I have no right to ask.
Her response is a wordless cry that’s rage and surrender in equal measure. She claws at my back, leaving red crescents in my skin. I crush her to me, devouring her lips, her throat, the hollow at the base of her neck.
She gasps my name again, softer this time, as if it hurts her to give me even that. Her nails dig in. Her hips arch, meeting mine, a shudder running through her that I feel all the way to my bones. I want to mark her, to claim every inch, to erase the line between captor and captive until neither of us remembers who started this.
I pull back just enough to search her face. Her eyes meet mine, bright with tears she refuses to shed. She tries to look away, but I catch her chin, forcing her to hold my gaze.
“Tell me to stop,” I say, voice thick, dangerous. “Otherwise I’m going to do things to you you’ve never dreamed of.”
She doesn’t. Her lips part, her body softens against mine. She’s trembling, but she doesn’t say no. Her hands tighten in my hair, dragging me back down.
The air between us shatters. I press her back against the wall, mouth covering hers in a bruising kiss. My hands are everywhere; tangled in her hair, dragging down her back, greedy and rough, unable to get enough of her.
Her body yields, but not in surrender. It’s a battle, every breath, every shift of her hips, every moan torn from her throat.
